Page 14 of Property of the Woodsman

My fingers dig into his hair, and I grind up into his face, scrubbing against the bump of his nose as I work my hips to near orgasm for the second time tonight.

If this night is all that ever comes of anything between Atlas and I, I’m okay with that because I’m pretty sure I’ll remember this experience for the rest of my life.

“That’s my girl,” he growls between licks. “That little clit is so swollen for me. Squeeze those thighs against my face just like that. Trap me here. Trap me between these thick thighs while you come all over my face.”

I grind up against him as he talks, squirming against his chin, his beard, his nose, his lips, his tongue, whatever I can find until all at once pressure begins to build.

I’m not okay. I’m not sure I’ll ever be okay again. How will I forget this? How will I ever let someone else touch me knowing how good this moment was? How can I go on pretending like this isn’t exactly what I’ve been wanting my entire life? How can I live an acre away from this man and have a complete life knowing every fantasy I’ve ever had is across my lawn?

This was a mistake.

The best mistake, but a mistake, nonetheless.

He growls low and I lose control of my muscles. Twitching, contracting, squirming, thrusting, grinding, screaming, panting, moaning.

“Fuck me,” he groans, still thrusting his fingers into my hole as he talks. “You taste so fucking good. Do you know that? You’re so sweet.”

Why does he have to keep saying all the right things? This would be so much easier if he were really hot but bad in bed, or great in bed but not so hot, or really hot and great in bed but useless. Why does he have to be all the things I need?

As the orgasm fades, my brain turns to mush alongside my body, and my breath slows.

“Now my little rabbit is so tired. Do you know how much self-control it’s taking not to shove my cock inside of you right now?”

“I want it,” I whine. “I want to know how you feel inside of me. I need it.”

“If I give you everything right now, you won’t come back for more, and I need to know you’re coming back.” He groans and helps me up from the couch. “Let’s go eat that pie you made. I’m starving.”

Chapter Five

Atlas

Heavy rain clouds sit over the house as I slide down onto the floor with Jen, a fork for each of us already dug into the gooey-sweet blackberry pie.

“This is my grandma’s recipe. Her crust, anyway. The filling is something I found online.” She takes a bite of the pie. “Do you like it?”

“You know, all these years of blackberries and no one ever made a pie with them. It’s delicious. Flaky, sweet, and perfect.”

Jen side eyes me. “You don’t have to pretend to love my pie because we fooled around.”

“I’m not pretending. It’s really good. Honestly.” I take another bite. “You bake a lot?”

“Umm… depends how much work I’m trying to avoid. Lately, I’ve been baking non-stop. I just learned a new apple cider donut recipe if you’re interested.”

I can’t help but grin. “I’m interested. Always. I would never say no to apple cider donuts, but I’m curious what work you’re trying to avoid.”

She sighs loudly and drops her fork in the pie pan before reaching up onto the counter for a bottle of water that’s been sitting there since I arrived. “I’m a writer.”

“A writer. I didn’t see that one coming. Not sure why I thought maybe you’d be a nurse or a schoolteacher or something.”

“Nope.” She shakes her head. “Nowhere near as useful. I sit around making up stories all day, and lately, I can’t even do that.”

“Writer’s block?”

She shakes her head and twists her hair to the side of her shoulder, her cheeks still red from our fun. “I don’t believe in writer’s block. I think I’ve just hit a wall. I can’t tap into that version of me anymore. I don’t know why.”

“Version of you?”

“I write under an alter ego.”